Ha ha, this is quite funny. Went to a meeting today with one of the kids, Matthew, he was showing his work to a Nigerian bloke who does art therapy and the like. He'd been talking us through his paintings, how they represented his torture and imprisonment, and his spirit, and his home country, and then right in the middle of this quite intense exchange, when he was looking through Matthew's work he paused and said 'Ah, Chantelle'. She was the only face he recognised out of all of Matthew's portraits! I really thought that was quite surreal. I also thought that I should stop bringing New magazine to work.

I watched two episodes of the Boosh last night, to counteract a serious panic attack. I then went to bed and has semi-erotic dreams about Noel, which was most disappointing, as I wanted pure filth. Since I've started anti-depressants, my sex drive has all but disappeared. I don't really seem to mind though, as a lack of sex drive means you don't even care, such is your general disdain for the wild monkey dance. I do have a faint memory of what it was like to be interested though, and it's very frustrating when you have a boyfriend that you actually fancy (as this hasn't always been the case), but certain parts of your brain have been surpressed since you met him, so you don't actually know how good it could be, because most of the time you pay as much attention to sex as you would an episode of Gardener's World.

Forgot to mention my hot Sunday night in the Spotted Cow. We pretty much doubled the customer numbers when we rolled up, and then they spent all evening trying to drive us back out by playing the same Whitney Houston CD, over, and over and over until even the dog was weeping. Every single hit, every wail, every 'whoo'! At least 3 times each. It was incredible.

If the Galileo space craft is orbiting Io tonight, then I'm screwed.

I want a sand cat! Went to Marwell Zoo on Sunday for 2nd cousin Eva Tida's first birthday. The birthday girl has just said her first word. It is beer. She was busy requesting one all day, from the penguins, passers by, her grandmother and a big cardboard camel. 'Beer?' 'Beer?' 'Beer, beer, beer, BEER!'

Do you know how long it took to find a decent picture of a basking lemur? (I know it look like it's chairing a meeting, put apparently it's just sunbathing after a light lunch). You can see any animal sniffing it's neighbour or asleep in a tree, but kicking back like it's waiting for it's pipe and slippers? Lemurs rule!

Well, despite the best advice offered by my gut instinct (which I'm tending to ignore these days, seeing as it pretty much tells me never to leave the house), I went out on Wednesday night. And guess what? I actually had fun. I only spent £2.90, as Danny brought his flatmates along, all of whom bought rounds and after 6 I was floored anyway. We didn't get to do any dancing as all the bars we went to has achingly empty floors, so instead we went back to Danny's and played Who Would You Rather? I then lay on the floor and proceeded to empty the contents of my soul all over it, spewing forth horrible thoughts that nobody should have to hear, mostly insinuations about who is sleeping with who at work. I got accused of being a flirt and a tease and having a filthy mind. All of these are true. Johnny then decided it was time to take me home. I haven't seen anybody from work since. I don't know if I ever will again, socially speaking. But in the words of Father Ted: 'I've had my fun, and that's all that matters'.

Well, I know who reported me to the landlord. It was my strange African flatmate. How about that? He did apologise on Saturday for not just asking me to get Olly to spend the odd night on his own sofa, but seeing as the outright ban on 'overnight guests' had already been enforced...well, it didn't really mean an awful lot. I had been softening my attitude towards him as well, and was meaning to stop the dodgy impressions of his accent and leaving offensive material on the coffee table for his viewing displeasure. But his playground tactics have meant that I am reduced to a new state of childishness. I plan to leave the TV remotes scattered about, rather than arranged neatly on top of the TV as he likes them, and every single mug I ever use unwashed. I may draw back the curtains after he's drawn them. I certainly won't be hoovering behind the sofa. These things drive him mad. He can't walk through a room without straightening something. I may also start a Friday night Satanist meet and greet, goat optional.

It's a really sticky subject with a lot of grey areas, and I probably don't know even half enough to comment, but my gut reaction is maybe this will speed up the search for an alternative to animal testing. I read somewhere that those who test on animals only do so because there is no other choice. If it disturbs them that much, shouldn't they be campaigning to find an alternative? I don't know how ANYBODY could do that for a living.

The return of Evil Harold ladies and gentleman.

I'm going dancing next week! I'm very scared. I haven't danced properly since...ah, it was on the Christian party boat, and then they kept turning the music down, and we had about an inch of space each which you can't really get creative in. Am going with the lovely people from work, Leonie the social work student who is apparently anybodys after half a glass of wine, Danny the rave attending, skateboarding Christian hobbit, and Johnny, the pretty boy your mother would probably steal off you. I do want to go, because I haven't had a proper silly night out in ages. I don't want to go because my mood has been beyond foul lately, and a crowded bar is not the best place to have a 'what does it all mean' moment. I should stop listening to Beth Orton.

Let's change the subject before a red mist descends. Has anybody seen Life is Sweet? I rediscovered this film the other night, and it's brilliant. Aubrey is my god, I want him to lay me down on his orthapedic mattress and feed me liver in lager

I bought The Last Broadcast by Doves today, which in my opinion, cannot be listened to on anything below loud, because it sounds a lot more ethereal and moody that way. Plus the plinky plonky bits sounds really good at full decibel. But my dad has come over to keep an eye on me, and he keeps turning it down. He's also insisting that I turn the heating off, go out for some fresh air and put a jumper on. I appreciate his efforts, but I'm quite happy being moody, with my music on full pelt and my chest exposed. I'm just not used to parental guidance any more. Sometimes I can appreciate it, but not today. Today I don't feel like talking, or eating anything sensible. I want to hunch over the computer screen until my eyes seal up, and then I'll go and lie under my duvet with my MP3 player.

Something similar is happening in Neighbours at the moment, everybody is up in arms because rather than dressing in black and flopping about the house, weeping for his dead family, Harold prefers to bake muffins for Paul Robinson and hand out soup to the homless. Come on people, give him a break! It's not like he's out dabbling with drugs or shoplifitng. He's not even tipping bins over and graffiting your lovely cul-de-sac. And he always wears such nice, sensible jumpers. I have a sneaking suspicion that they want to see the return of Evil Harold, and that's not going to happen while he's hanging out with the Salvos. I'd also like to see the return of Alcoholic Karl, which was one of soap's best bad portrayals of addiction, topped only by Hollyoaks, who are unbeatable at tackling 'serious issues' with all the subtlety of a bulldozer. Karl would have one too many lemon squashes at Lou's Place and get a taxi home at half past the eleven! I wanted to see him putting peanuts down his trousers and throwing up in Max's front garden like a proper drunk.

I'm going to see the Boosh again. Greedy I know, but my friend Elliot really wants to see them, and I'm doing it for him, honest. Anyway, I'd only spend my hard-earned cash on New magazine and eyeshadow, at least this way it will go towards the half ton of hair products Noel must use each week to keep his hair looking like it's a living breathing creature.

I've just finished reading a book about Palestine after the war. I thought it might give me a little bit of insight into the way some of the Kurdish kids at work feel, although it's not strictly the same thing. I wonder what state the world would be in if there were no religious beliefs at all? We'd probably find something else to argue about. If we were all the same life would be pretty damn dull, but diversity does seem to cause so much conflict.

I've just been down the field to throw some stones for the dog, and seen about 15 lambs. It's February! And it's been snowing for 2 days, the poor little things don't even have wool yet! I don't know how farmers can get so irate about foxes killing their livestock, when they're quite happy to leave them out in the snow at a few days old. More lambs die of exposure than anything else. How much would it realistically cost to build a barn and keep them inside during this kind of weather? They spend their first few weeks of life freezing to death and if they survive that, they get carted off to the abbatoir. It's sick. The entire western world is obsessed with money, and making it at the expense of everything else, especially any sort of compassion.

The travellers are back and relatively unscathed, except for a thorough fleecing by every Moroccan salesman who offered them 'special student price' and more often than not, their hand in marriage. But they've brought back loads of cool stuff, scarves and jewellery, mum is wandering about looking like Laurence of Arabia. Also some fertility lipstick, which you apply and the darker it goes, the more fertile you are. Let's just say my womb is a fairly barren place if this is to be believed. Older sister beat younger sister by having 6,000 camels offered for her. My mum bought so much tea that she may pose a serious threat to PG Tips. Except it tastes like weeds, so probably not. She also nearly got bitten by a camel called Cristoff, who was pissed off. If anybody sees him, please inform the authorities, he's in need of some anger management.

It's really quite nice being back in Wales. You can walk through fields which haven't been measured out with a ruler, and go into town wearing wellies. Farmer's drive around with their dogs on the front seat of their landrover and their wives in the back. You can catch the one bus a week and listen to old women cackling in Welsh. The front page of the local paper is running a story about a homeless man stealing 3 creme eggs from Somerfield.